Walk on guilded splinters

Though it works hard it’s the slowest clock I’ve ever seen, falling behind by an hour or more every day. I finished my first two weeks in the new job, celebrated our wedding anniversary late, worked through some issues with our kids. Went to the mall with my mom to return a pair of shoes, agreed we’d meet in an hour but got confused on the exact meeting spot, then waited an hour longer for each other, a hundred yards apart. Went back to the tavern on Mercer Island and played the jukebox, split a burrito. Stopped by the store for frozen pizzas, for dinner. Came back home, reset the clock.

The rain washed away the pollen, thick as the ash from last summer’s wildfires. We saw the coyote in the back yard again and ran outside, but it disappeared. It’s impossible to sleep past 6 with the light this time of year, and I kind of begrudge it. It must be open fishing season because the lake’s covered with anglers in boats now, or out on the dock with their umbrellas. I showed Dawn and my mom the draft speech I wrote about women in technology for my client, and they liked it — but then mom wordsmithed me and Dawn joined in, so I took my lap top back and closed it.

Time is strange, mom and I agreed, remembering when she first came and we went to Charlotte’s recorder concert at the school. I was in my old job still, and we flew back to Pennsylvania for spring break. Mom said it feels likes she’s been here for a year already: we toggle in and out of verb tenses from past to future every day, and the present’s the hardest to master.

Every morning walking to the lake to wake up, or stopping on the street to look for something I haven’t seen before. I feel these days slip away, the kids different and me too, why it seems we have to hurry in to every moment. I tried to sleep in but couldn’t, came downstairs for a coffee, said today instead of walking to the lake I’m going to sit down and just write. It’s Sunday.


Photo taken at Bellevue Square mall, old Bellevue.

Post title from Doctor John song, 1968.

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in Memoir, prose, writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

28 Responses to Walk on guilded splinters

  1. The opening sentence is killer. Sets the mood for a very good reflection.
    Maybe try the Yankee farmer thing, stop the clock on your way out in the morning, and start it up when you get home. “Hey Tío, el tiempo pasa inexorablemente.”

    Liked by 2 people

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ah, good. Hi Robert! Happy spring and April to ya’, mate. I like your Yankee farmer reco…glad you liked it and thanks for reading. I miss the ‘sphere. Bill

      Like

  2. Lynn Love says:

    That clock must drive you crazy! Or do you think it’s a message, that it’s trying to tell you to slow down, take some time out, appreciate people and things and moments while you have them. There’s a sense of time slipping away through this piece – a fine message for us all, if only we could stop and listen. Great writing Bill

    Liked by 2 people

    • pinklightsabre says:

      It kind of does Lynn but it’s a good reminder to chill whenever I can…yes, slipping…have missed reading yours too and being “interactive.” I should drop the quotes. Happy Sunday to you, what’s left….enjoy the start of your week! Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  3. walt walker says:

    This makes me want to sit down and riff off of it.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Great piece. Wonderful song, that title. Couldn’t quite make a connection b/w lyric and post unless it’s “Je suie le grand zombie” [chuckles at own bad joke]. I want to read WW’s piece. Laughed out loud at “bare chested, with a cigarette in my mouth” as I was expecting Kerouac and got Slash.
    Enjoyable visit (even without the beer). Thanks Bill.

    Liked by 2 people

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ha, good..not as much as the chuckle from Walt’s comment though. I needed a title and that song was playing, and suited the photo (which I took at the mall). Thought it captured the kind of trudging through time theme I was going for.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. ksbeth says:

    the past, the present – confused and muddled, just like the clock you have to keep resetting.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Dammit. You’ve inspired me again.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. How do you wait for an hour? Don’t you have phones? That’s what those otherwise useless devices are good for; missed connections and directions.

    Sitting on a dock at 6:00 a.m. with an umbrella is exactly the type of things that sours me on the great outdoors. How about a midday hike? Can we do that instead?

    Malls are going the way of the DuMont television network.

    Liked by 2 people

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ha, exactly: no phone for Mom (visiting from Germany). Won’t make that mistake again, until the next time. People watching and mall music doesn’t cut it, maybe for 5 minutes is all.

      Like

  8. Pingback: Shorter of breath, and one day closer | waltbox

  9. It must be a frustration to always have to reset the clock

    Like

  10. Pingback: WATCH | Lonely Keyboards

  11. rossmurray1 says:

    The wordsmithing bit made me smile. Everyone wants feedback until they get it.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. stanumask says:

    Upgraded…….

    Liked by 1 person

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